What's Past is Prologue
by Her Royal Nonsense
Summary: In a story rehashed by the imagination of a whimsical young elleth, Haldir's travels take him to Balfalas and the city of Dol Amroth where he investigates the disappearances of many of the principality's children and the Knights that tried to rescue them.
1. Prologue

_The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater._

_-Haldir of Lórien_

Empty homes tell tales, long after those who lived within their walls have perished. It brought the young girl much amusement to imagine the souls who lived there, weave their stories of grandeur, and dream that those souls would have similar stories to tell if they lived still to tell them.

What brought her to this home in particular was a single rumour that its inhabitant had composed the anthem of the Reunited Kingdom as a gift for King Elessar. Of course, it was only a rumour; nothing gave particular credence to it.

It surprised her still how modest the home was, for legend pegged the lady who lived there as one with a penchant for pretty and often extravagant things of immeasurable value – had the legends held true, in this little house made of stone she would have met her sad, lonely end.

Every surface imaginable was blanketed with thick layers of dust and in some places, the carcasses of insects. Silky cobwebs covered every corner. Elerossë jumped in panic as a mouse scurried outside; she had left the door slightly ajar. She ventured further into the house and examined the bedroom; it was empty save for a small bed and a simple wardrobe.

_But there was something behind it._

Elerossë furrowed her dark brow as she carefully gripped the edge of the wardrobe, pulling it to one side, wincing as it screeched against the floorboards. It exposed another door leading into the cellar.

Something told the Elf not to venture downwards and biting her lip to ease her nerves, she tucked a stray tendril of black hair behind her pointed ear. A wicked, raspy voice hissed behind her to get away, and Elerossë could have sworn it sounded incensed at the sudden intrusion. It was passionate, surely, but the disembodied voice did not persuade and she started the trek downwards. It took her eyes a few moments to adjust to the dark, but she found when she placed down a rock to keep the door ajar there was enough light that she could see clearly. Some musical instruments laid strewn about and carelessly forgotten – a viol and a cello amongst a small sea of emptied wine bottles. In the corner was a large chest.

"You must have something more to tell me," the girl whispered as she tiptoed to the chest and flipped over the latches.

A cloak of deep red laid folded neatly at the very top; Elerossë recognized the brooch to be of elven design. Beneath that were two jackets suitable for formal occasions, one of a deep rose and the other embroidered in sky blue. The collar on both pieces was outlandishly high, golden buttons laced intricately down one side and the seam skirted out at the waist. Some jewelry had been wrapped in black lace – hair clips and combs, several necklaces and a number of the rings, some had evidently been made too large to belong to a woman.

But it was what lay buried at the bottom that caught her attention. One was a large pile of letters, teased together eternally with withered rope and the other was a folder or rather, a portfolio. Whatever its contents were, she could not yet tell though its thickness suggested the contents were many.

Gathering everything in her nimble arms she left the cellar in a hurry, placing the bundle on the table. She decided to investigate the letters first, as those probed her curiosity the most, and using her nails she released the knot and plucked the first from the pile. Several of them she could not read for she recognized the language as Rohirric.

Still ever curious, Elerossë plucked another from the pile. They were scattered and of no particular order. This one was dated 2 Ivanneth, 2977.

_Dearest sister!_

_I do hope this letter reaches you swiftly! I must tell you that I am with child. While I doubt you will be able to arrive in time for the birth, I would be delighted beyond words if you would attend the Naming Ceremony. Father hopes for your return as well, he is bearing through a trial of ill health and speaks often about having all his children about him. Please, I beg you, come home!_

_With love,_

_Finduilas._

The next was folded over itself many times; it took her several moments to unravel it. Other than being folded, it had been crumbled, seemingly crushed between someone's fist, that much was evident. Whether in anguish or anger, that much was not as clear.

_Beloved, _it read in a delicate cursive. No date provided any hint to when it was written.

_It has been three years since you left me and I should tell you the universe appears a mighty stranger! It is so very hard to think myself a part of it when you are not! But alas, the King keeps me busy, odd in my old age but yet, it is this occupied time that keeps me alive._

_The nights are the worst, my darling. Without fail, so embedded is your face in my memory that each time I close my eyes I see your smile... it is as if your likeness had been permanently imprinted on my lids. I do not know if it is a gift or a curse, most times I reckon the latter. _

_Strange that in life we talked so often about __my__ death, as if it was a certain thing that you would outlive me. And you were prepared to do so! But I was never pre – _a splotch of ink caused the rest of the sentence to become indiscernible - _for even when you marched to Rohan with your brothers, in my heart of hearts, you were an elf, made of stronger stuff than myself and somehow you managed to convince me my despair was misplaced. You would come back, you said, and I believed you._

_Foolish on my account, surely. Blind, childish faith I placed in your wicked lies. Had I known – _again, here she could not decipher the writing - _have bound you to that tree you love so bloody much until the end of the war! And you would hate me, surely, but you would be safe._

_I thought of the first time we met the other day, I know the few times we spoke of that day brought you no joy or visible delight, but I quite-_

The text faded significantly beyond those words and it was no longer legible. The girl mindlessly fumbled with the clasp on the red cloak. How might they have met, she wondered silently, turning over the parchment in hopes that there might have been more writing, some further narration of the story.

Nothing.

And then she recalled the abandoned instruments strewn in the depths of the little house, and she used that knowledge to spur her wild imagination into weaving the answer.

_It was the Yuletide Music Fair, an annual tradition for the citizens of Dol Amroth. An Elf, cloaked fully in gray save for the shadows of his face, walked amongst the line of vendors and brightly-coloured booths. Some children played with puppets while men and women alike traded instruments and tips and others sang to the tune of their harps. Unlike many of his kind, he held a particular fondness for venturing beyond the borders of his realm. He had made several acquaintances during his sparse travels, and open to him they would be, for they told him much of their lives and frequently possessed rather colourful commentaries on the current state of affairs within their borders. He was on his way to visit one such gentleman now, but thought a detour through the fair would be charming._

_He came across a child, sitting at the bottom of the castle steps – her home, he reckoned, judging by the elegance and intricacy of her clothing. "Not right! It is not right!" With the mannerisms betraying her rather spoilt status, the little girl pushed the viol and the bow away, dramatically crossing her arms with a sigh._

"_What is not right, little lady?" the elf crouched beside the girl and pulled back his hood, gingerly picking up the miniature instrument. She pointed to one of the strings and he nodded, "yes, it has come loose... there." He turned the peg, tightened the offending string and handed it back to the little girl. "Try it now."_

_She eagerly took it from his hands and brushed the bow across the strings in the beginnings of a song, and Haldir took immediate notice of her tender skill and technique. It reminded him much of a rather accomplished violist. He had not expected such a sound from one so young. "Le hannon!" _

_Hearing his own native tongue in Dol Amroth was not uncommon, and thus provided no surprise. "How old are you, young princess?" She held up her hand in her response, but folded her thumb over to indicate she was four. Watching her as she counted her fingers to check, the corners of his lips curled upwards to form a smile of amusement as her eyes widened - she realized she was incorrect and quickly unfolded her thumb. _

"_No, five!"_

"_Yes, I am glad you have not forgotten about your birthday so soon, it was only yesterday." A young woman picked the little girl up, and Haldir concluded it must have been her mother. Both were fair of face, with similarly rounded gray eyes and unruly masses of chestnut curls. He sensed a faint strain of elven blood in the girl's veins that the mother did not herself possess. "It has been very long since the elves have ventured here," she said with the tiniest hint of hostility._

"_My apologies, m' lady." The sight of a woman protecting her child had always been endearing to him. "My name is Haldir and I hail from Lothlórien; there I serve as the Lady Galadriel's March Warden," with his hand over his heart he bowed to the adaneth, who returned the gesture with a simple nod on account of the fidgeting child in her arms. _

"_You have been here before." _

"_Yes, indeed I have," he answered, "there was a settlement of elves in Dol Amroth during the second age, myself included. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel dwelt here for a time as well."_

"_I have heard stories that the elves left when their King was lost at sea."_

_Haldir shook his head. "__Stories they were not. Amroth was our King, and your house bears his name. He drowned in the Bay of Balfalas searching for his beloved and betrothed, Nimrodel," he looked to the child again, "I understand your people to be masters of the harp, and yet, this one plays the viol with the hands of a seasoned musician. Who is her teacher?"_

_Her eyes smiled as she turned her attentions towards her child. "She has not been taught. Not formally, at least. Her father plays with her, but she seems to have her own ear for music."_

_The elf smiled kindly in turn. "I see, it is important to nurture whatever gifts a child has been birthed with." There was a pause, a brief moment of silence before it appeared he would speak again, "I must be on my way now, my lady," he seized hold of her hand, brought it to his lips and took his leave swiftly thereafter._

* * *

Sincere thanks to Availre and Darkwinter999 for beta-ing this for me! xo


	2. Chapter 1

The night was crisp and the wind whispered throughout the great golden trees of Lothlórien. Brilliant moonlight filtered downwards, bathing the hallowed woods in rich hues of silver and green. The land remained vibrant with colour even during the harshest months of winter: unfailingly flawless and unblemished. Unbitten by ice and absent of frost.

And yet, in all its cool serenity, the night was alive with anticipation. For desecrating the still perfection of the land of Lady Galadriel was a lone Orc, his broken axe raised high above his head. The handle wavered in his hand. As he whirled around a sloppy chatter escaped a rather grotesque formation of cracked, bleeding lips. One of the lady's sharp-eared sentinels, perched inconspicuously along the length of a thick mallorn branch, drew his great Galadhrim bow and nocked an arrow. The Elf glanced over at another, one of his kin considering the stark resemblance between the two, who in turn produced the slightest of nods not a moment before the arrow was let loose and pierced the Orc's forehead. The puncture was clean and quick and the creature dropped unceremoniously, hitting the ground with a resonating thud. Three Elves emerged from the tree in which they'd been hiding.

"How peculiar!" One of the band, slightly taller than the others but whose face was perhaps the most youthful looked gravely down at the carcass. "Orcs often travel in packs, why did this one stray?"

"He did not," said another, his attention focused on a patch of land in the distance. This Elf was a bit stockier than the others and not quite as tall but he carried himself with a stiff grace and calm integrity. "He fled," the Elf made a fleeting gesture towards the west, where many miles away another band of border-guards had finished despatching several dozen of the vile things. He could smell the putrid filth despite the distance between them.

And yet, this Orc looked dissimilar to all the others they had encountered before. His face was not as malignantly distorted, not as hideously malformed. He had been a man once – not in the same manner Orcs had once been Elves several millennia ago, but it almost seemed as if this one's past had not yet been so distant, so obscure.

"Shall we send word to Caras Galadhon, Haldir?"

"Nay," Haldir shook his head, finally turning from the ruins to look his brother in the eye. "We will wait out the night to ensure no more of them breach our borders. We depart for Caras Galadhon at sunrise. Not a moment sooner."

Their night was spent comfortably on a talan in a smaller tree. They laid their fur cloaks down and sat with their arms around their knees. The eldest two, Haldir and Orophin whispered between themselves and finished off a piece of waybread while Rúmil focused his attentions on writing. If the scratches of the swan quill against papyrus was at all an irritant for the other two Elves, they made no note of it. "How could it be that these Orcs managed to set foot in our land? Lothlórien has not seen such evils for centuries!"

"I do not know, brother. Let us hope that we have seen the last of them."

The remainder of the night passed uneventfully and without a single disturbance. Just as Haldir had instructed, the trio began the journey to the city of Caras Galadhon as soon as the sun rose. While there was not much that provided them such immense pleasure as the vivid forests of Lórien unfailingly did, Haldir felt he was bearing an indiscernible weight on his shoulders; a shadow over his mind that he himself could not understand. "I think I will travel outwards again, I have meaning to do so for some time," he said, quietly.

The other two were silent as they absorbed the sudden proclamation of their kin. "I must admit, I have never understood this fascination for mingling outside of Lórien-" Orophin had not been given an opportunity to list a dozen reasons why it was inconceivable to leave for any stretch of time (least of all the pretty ellith) before he was interrupted.

Haldir chuckled, running his hand through his thick mass of long, silvery hair. "You might enjoy the experience if you ever develop the courage to venture."

"It is not a lack of courage that keeps me here. It is a love for our lands and a wellfounded mistrust of anything or anyone that does not hail from it," he said, his tone grave with warning.

Haldir sighed but paid his words little heed for they had this conversation too many times before. Neither ever managed to sway the other into agreement. Instead, he glanced behind his shoulder towards Rúmil and kindly patted the quieter Elf on the back.

"Where do you think you will go?" his brother asked him, struggling somewhat to feign his softness.

"I think I shall ride to Gondor."

"Again?"

"I have not been for quite some time-"

The sigh Orophin released was laced in exasperated frustration, for he evidently did not agree. "It was less than a decade," he argued.

"Nay, that trek was to Rohan. It has been more than two since I have visited the Stoningland."

* * *

Haldir stood before the Lady Galadriel in her gardens. The vibrant blooms surrounding them were a magnificent array of blue, yellow and green and the foliage perfectly complimented a fountain of flowing water, twisted elegantly around the trunk of a large tree.

"They were not like the others," her voice was deep as thunder and yet at the same time, soft as silk as she poured water from a porcelain pitcher into a chalice and handed it to Haldir. In turn, he bowed reverently to his Lady. "Nenya has kept our lands safe for many years," she continued, "they were Man-Orcs. We have not seen them active since the days of Saruman's designs on Middle Earth."

He nodded and the Lady was silent for a moment, observing the curious expression that crossed the Galadhrim's face. "No," she answered, without him having to inquire verbally, "there will not be more - least not within gour borders - for some time."

"That is good."

"Indeed," she smiled. It was a radiantly warm gesture that lifted his spirits. "Your brothers can manage in your absence for a while. You need not worry for them."

He should not have been surprised that she would have known of his intentions, but nonetheless he was caught off-guard. "Thank you, my lady."

It was only some moments after Haldir respectfully excused himself and took leave that Celeborn, Lord of Lothlórien, made to join his wife by her garden. "You are certain it is wise to provide Haldir with leave at this time?"

Galadriel scoffed; the look was so unusual on the lady's face, but it was only in the company of her husband that she would ever have been guilty of it. "Of course," she whispered, placing her long, slender hand on his chest. "He has an open heart and an open mind. He appreciates change and diversity more than most of our people. It certainly is unusual, but altogether quite endearing. He senses that his Fate has been weaved somehow to his adventures abroad."

"But you fear for him because of it."

She sighed, twirling a length of her husband's silken, silver hair between her fingers. "I do."

* * *

Haldir and Rúmil ascended several flets to arrive at the talan that had belonged to Haldir for many years. As they approached the structure, the corners of his lips curled upwards when he noticed a group of four ellith waiting patiently in front of his home. Turning his attentions away from the silver-haired beauties, he engaged his brother in a little play that they all were certain to hear. "Ah! Yes, dangerous creatures, the lot of them! They travel in packs and ensnare even the most hapless of ellon! Merciless, I hear."

"Oh, Haldir, stop your teasing! We are only excited you are back!" one of them giggled as she took his warm hands in her own and rose to her tip-toes to plant a kiss on his cheek, repeating the same greeting to Rúmil. "We missed the both of you so! How long will you stay this time?"

He immediately took notice of the quiet dignity of the elleth who stood behind her. In appearance she was similar to the others, possessing a long mane of rich silver and bright eyes of blue - common characteristics for the Elves of Lórien. Her name was Siladhiel and Haldir had once, many hundreds of years ago, come rather close to courting the young lady. It was just prior to his appointment as March Warden and this proved to be their greatest obstacle. The position entailed spending months at a time stationed at his post and Siladhiel could not bring herself to bear the extensive length of time apart. It was for this reason that the relationship between the two elves dissolved, although even still some inkling of interest remained vested in the other.

She was silent now, clearly not as comfortable in large groups as the others.

He turned his attentions away from her. "Not long, I am afraid," he admitted, spurning two of the ladies to pout.

"Come, you must dine with us tonight! We will make your favourite – some honey and lavender cakes, wassail and perhaps some hazelnut crumble to indulge that sweet tooth of yours, Haldir."

One side of Haldir's mouth curled. "You drive a hard bargain, ladies."

"There it is, then! Come to my talan at sun down!"

"Aye."

* * *

A gentle, timid knock sounded on the other side of the door.

"Siladhiel," he whispered. He had not expected to have words with her so soon. In fact, he had anticipated diving into a bottle of red wine beforehand.

"It is good to see you well, Haldir."

"And you also. How have you been faring as of late?"

"I have been well, thank you. As a matter of fact, I have begun to take up archery," she told him, pointedly.

"Oh yes? Perhaps you shall be the first of us to best the Prince of Mirkwood in an archery match," he winked playfully at her in attempt to put her at ease. He had always been very encouraging; this was one of the many qualities that endeared him to her.

She smiled, but apart from that gave no other response. Several long moments passed before it appeared as if she would answer.

"I have been thinking of you a great deal lately," she said into the heavy silence, although it was barely above a whisper and had he not possessed such sharp hearing, he might not have caught it.

"Sila-"

"Let me explain, Haldir!" To describe Siladhiel as temperamental would be far-fetched for anyone who knew her, and yet here she was failing miserably to maintain her composure. "We could... we could come to an arrangement, Haldir. I could become a march warden, like you, like your brothers... then-" she could not finish her proposal before he dismissed the very thought of it.

"No, Sila-"

"Haldir-"

"You are being silly, Siladhiel. A female in the guard is unheard of. Even greater still, it is our duty and our primary concern to protect these forests – foolish is it to have any other intention!" Then the thought rushed to him, suddenly weaving the entire situation together like the last piece of a puzzle. "Was this why you began to practice archery?"

The manner in which she could barely conceal her disdain gave him the answer and he sighed dejectedly. "I am sorry, Siladhiel. We will discuss this matter again when I return."

"Return from where?"

"It does not matter. Return to your friends. They are waiting for you," his swift dismissal of her, that little nod in the direction of the door might have been a little more offensive than was his intention. "I will see you tonight."

She lifted her chin, unfazed. "You might."

* * *

_Just as an FYI, this chapter is currently un-beta'd, so there will be some minor changes sometime in a few days. Merry Christmas, friends! xoxo_


	3. Chapter 2

_My apologies for the delay. As an fyi, the next chapter is already finished and just undergoing some minor tweaks... so expect an update in two to three days. Special thanks to the RL members for their awesome reviews, and thank you to Estoma for beta-reading this chapter. Ta._

* * *

The ambiance of the talan was warm and inviting. Nearly a dozen lit candles bathed the room in a vibrant, golden glow and to the naked eye it appeared as if the mahogany drapings and matching furniture had become even richer in their colouring. In the middle of the long, oak table was a grand plethora of food: freshly baked bread and honey cakes, a wheel of marbled cheese, roasted chicken with some wassail and wine, finished with a bowl of various salted nuts and berries.

"They are here!" One of the Elves called out excitedly, throwing open the door to give greetings as the three brothers promptly arrived together. What had only moments ago been a picture of still elegance suddenly transformed into an enthusiastic whirlwind of noise and pitchy chatter.

"Well, you all have most certainly outdone yourselves. It smells absolutely delightful."

Their host for the evening, Lady Feärwen was putting some final touches on a selection of syllabus and hazelnut crumble for dessert, just as she had promised several hours prior. "Take a seat and help yourselves my friends!"

"I certainly do not need to be told twice," Orophin said, standing idly whilst the ladies chose their own places along the table first. He eventually took the seat directly across from where Haldir and Rúmil had already seated themselves. "Shall we break into that bottle of wine?"

Haldir had already beaten him to it. "And so, what have you ladies been doing to occupy your time?"

"Oh, you must tell them now, Valaina!" Feärwen called out from the kitchen.

"Tell us what?"

"Valaina has just been appointed as Galadriel's head seamstress, and Lord Vardamir has asked to court her!"

Haldir placed the bottle down as the last glass was filled. "Is this so?"

Lady Valaina was the only cousin of the three brothers. Collectively they had all become particularly close after their mothers parted for Valinor several centuries ago. Valaina had no siblings of her own, and sensitive to her loneliness at the time, Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin often doted on her as if she were their own sister. "I know you do not like him, but for my sake you must be friends."

He shook his head, picking up the knife to slice off several pieces of bread for the table. "No," he countered, "it is not Vardamir I dislike as I do his insufferable brother. He is a wolfish slip of an Elf and I am ever surprised he has not been banished from our borders. He-"

"Haldir – you mustn't say it!"

"I must not say what?" He asked, feigning an air of innocence.

"Do not jest!" Valaina advised, swatting the big elf's arm playfully. "Golradir is merely competitive… as are _you_ and you clash because you are too similar."

"Nay, that is not the source of our disagreements, dear cousin. But alas I will drop this discourse, for I truly am pleased for you. Vardamir is a fine Elf and your appointment as Lady Galadriel's head seamstress is a great honour indeed. I am very proud."

"Aye," agreed Orophin.

Feärwen joined the gathering at last and furrowed her brow – something, someone was missing. "Where is Siladhiel?" she asked.

Haldir gave no answer; whether he did not have words to express or merely chose not to express them, he would not have made either clear.

"I fear that Haldir might have frightened away the poor lady," Rúmil responded, failing to suppress the rise at the corner of his lips. Haldir was not as amused; he flashed his brother an accusatory stare more often reserved for Orophin's antics in the past.

And appropriately enough, it was Orophin who would continue the teasing, though he had not been privy to the conversation Rúmil referred to. "I honestly cannot bring myself to understand what in all Middle Earth she sees in him." He spoke loud, but referred directly to the elleth sitting on his right. "He's not nearly as handsome or charming as myself and has clearly enjoyed far too many of Lady Feärwen's honey cakes for his own good."

With a flick of his forefinger, Haldir propelled a chestnut towards Orophin; it made a splash as it landed squarely into his glass of wine.

"You_ half-witted _Orc," Orophin spat. The ladies held their hands over their mouth to suppress their giggles as he fished the chestnut from his glass with his fingers.

"It is just that, dear brother. Handsome and charming as you might very well be, what you lack is the sophistication and elegance benefitting of a proper ellon," Haldir smirked visciously as the chestnut came catapulting back towards him. He caught it effortlessly, smugly cocking his brows.

"Friends!" Feärwen managed to gain her voice between her short fit of laughter, "this is hardly the table manners befitting two of Lórien's finest! I insist you both behave yourselves or you shall have to find someone else to feed your insufferable appetites!"

"My apologies, my lady. Neither Haldir nor myself wish for that."

"That is good."

Orophin nodded. "Thus I am certain he will begin to behave himself."

* * *

After saying his goodnights to the gathering, Haldir headed immediately to the stables to fetch his steed; a rather majestic dappled grey mare known in Lórien by the name of Mithroch, gifted to him many years ago by the Lady Galadriel. He had not planned on leaving so swiftly and without any formal announcement to any but his kin, but also felt as though he had done nothing but wait to depart since his timely return to Caras Galadhon. He despised to sit about and stir as he was.

Mithroch snorted as he approached her. "How is my favourite little lady?" He asked fondly, his voice feather-light as he stroked the soft hair of the animal's mane.

"I must say Haldir, son of Feredir... 'litte' is not a quality I would claim for myself."

Haldir wheeled around ungracefully as Galadriel approached him. He placed his hand upon his chest, partly to still his own beating heart just as much as to show the Lady her due respect. He bowed his head. "My lady, I was not expecting to see you before my departure."

"No," her amusement sparked in her deep blue eyes, "you would have disappeared as a shadow in the night." She brushed her hand along the length of the animal's coat. "The journey to Dol Amroth is not difficult, but it will take you many days to travel it. Mithroch is happy to bear you the distance."

He nodded.

Her thoughts kept her silent for several moments longer. "Haldir, take care. I have told you already that Lothlórien will not see those creatures again for some time, but I do not mean to imply that _you_ will not."

"I understand – might they interfere with my journey _to_ Dol Amroth?"

"No," she admitted, "but it would be folly to let your guard down, even for a moment. Have you enough waybread to sustain yourself?"

"Yes my lady, Feärwen provided me with enough to last the journey there _and _back."

"Good." The White Lady was still in thought for a second, before she pulled a clip from her long river of golden hair and gifted it to the Marchwarden. In turn, he handled the butterfly-shaped ornament with the same perpetual reverence he habitually decreed upon _her_. So delicate was the piece that it might have snapped in two had he been a breath more reckless.

"What is this for?" He inquired; his voice was soft and inquisitive, yet lined with a particular suspicious quality.

Naturally, she picked this up swiftly and sighed, "you will have your answer soon, Haldir. Be wary always."

A sudden, tight sensation in his chest told him something was amiss, and _she _knew it just as well. "Should I not go?"

"If you do not, it is a decision you will come to regret. There are important things you are fated to do outside of Lothlórien, Marchwarden," she reached up, placing a hand upon his cheek. "Now, you must delay no further."

He nodded and mounted the animal. She gave him the slightest of nods as he placed his hand upon his heart. "Good-bye, my Lady."

"Good-bye, Haldir."


	4. Chapter 3

_I've included a bit of history - it might help some understand the ending a tad better. Thanks to my beta, Estoma and the folks at RLt for their kind reviews, and special thanks to BlondieLocks for being a wee fluffy sweetheart. Enjoy!_

* * *

In the beginnings of the Third Age, a number of Silvan Elves settled around the coastal regions of the Bay of Balfalas, building ships and granting passage to any Elf who wished to cross the Sundering Seas to the Undying Lands.

Amroth, King of Lothlórien, took his beloved Nimrodel to the Elf-haven of Edhellond to board one such ship. However, they became separated on the journey there. Amroth falsely believed his ship was the last to sail to the Gray Havens and leapt from it in haste, but he did not find his way to shore and drowned in the bay. This left Lothlórien without a leader in a time of grave danger, and thus Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel departed from Edhellond, sailing west over the water to return to the vast forests of Lórien and obtained guardianship over the Golden Wood. Nearly all the Elves who had settled around in the havens accompanied them back. Haldir and his brothers were among these Elves.

Through no choice of her own, the only Elf who would unwittingly remain in Balfalas was Nimrodel's maid-servant. Mithrellas was a lady of Lórien, fair of face and kind of heart but whose sense of direction left much to be desired for she had become lost along the fief. There, in a fit of despair she met and later wed the Numenorean Imrazôr. Although the grief of having to watch him age was too much for her heart to bear and she would eventually abandon him and disappear forever – it was not before birthing him two children: a boy by the name of Galador and a girl called Gilmith.

Lord Galador founded the city and later, the Princedom of Dol Amroth. And so began the line of its Princes.

* * *

The lengthy trek from the expansive forests of Lórien into the stone gates of Gondor took Haldir a little under a fortnight. Just as the Lady had told him, never was there a moment in which he was in danger of confronting Orcs directly, although he had passed by a contingent of them. Using the cover the forests so generously provided, he was able to remain unseen. Never did he entertain the foolish prospect of engaging the beasts, for their numbers were too many and attempting combat would be nothing short of suicide. He would stop only to feed Mithroch and to let her rest, as well as to break off pieces of waybread for himself. He arrived in Dol Amroth on the twelfth night and after some hostile questioning from the gatekeeper, he was granted entry to the principality. He had a friend in an old gentleman by the name of Mahtan, whose family owned an inn several blocks up. For many generations he and his family before him would provide the Elf with shelter and sustenance during his visits.

This one was no different.

"Ah, Master Haldir! Take up a seat, my old friend!" The offered hand was fat and wrinkled with age, but Haldir knew this custom well and he clasped his hand within his own.

"Thank you, Mahtan," he said fondly.

"Now, ye must bear with me, I am becoming rather forgetful and whatever you Elves like to drink has escaped me."

"Some red wine would be wonderful, thank you."

"Comin' right up. So what is it that brings you around here in the dead of winter?"

Haldir began to speak but the words died on his tongue when a loud, jovial group of six or seven men and women staggered into the tavern, laughing heartedly amongst themselves as they made way to an empty table. "Bring us the best ale you have, good sir!" one of the guests called out. Many of the Men Haldir had encountered throughout his years were rugged and often in dire need of a warm bath and an introduction to soap... but not these gentlemen. They must have been of the Courts, judging by their attire. Two women accompanied them; both wore rather unremarkable cloaks over vibrant-coloured gowns stitched intricately with frill and lace.

All the company was entirely mirthful and in high spirits so that Haldir assumed the gathering was a joyous celebration.

The innkeeper pushed the goblet of a deep-red wine across the counter. "Excuse me for a moment, Haldir."

"Of course."

Haldir chased those thoughts away momentarily as he watched Mahtan pour the ale. He used a lever to initiate a steady, consistent flow of frothy golden liquid. Ceasing only when the pints would overflow, and using a thin piece of carved wood, he leveled the ale to a hair's thickness below the rim. The excess head spilled onto the counter, explaining the wet, sticky mess in the area below the lever.

"_There!" _

"_Where?"_

"_The young gentleman seated at the counter – can you not see him? He must be made of ivory and rose-leaves."_

While surely the women had every intention for their discussion to remain between the two of them, the corners of his mouth tugged into a rather confident smirk for he had heard every word as if they were speaking to him directly.

Mahtan had begun to engage the companions briefly as he set the pints of ale in front of the Men. He always was a charismatic fellow, although he had become a little slower than Haldir last remembered.

One of the ladies, Haldir noticed upon catching a glimpse of her face, possessed the faintest strain of Silvan blood.

He furrowed his brow. But it could not be...

_Mithrellas._

"My apologies, Master Elf."

He banished those thoughts from his mind for the time being. "Where there is no harm, there is no foul, Mahtan."

"What is it that brings you here again, my old friend? Feeling a bit nostalgic?"

Haldir laughed. "Well, I suppose that is a small part of it if I am to be entirely honest with you-"

"Aye, you come on matters of business."

"No, not business, either. I come bearing questions. Lórien's borders have been breached by-"

"The most peculiar Orcs one is sorry enough to stumble across these days," Mahtan finished.

"You have seen them as well."

He placed a hand up to correct the Elf's assumption. "Nay. Nay, I don't see much of anything anymore, Master Elf. Heard rumours – every once in a while one of our Knights will stagger in here, sit right about where you are now and talk about those Orcs but they haven't ever wanted to talk about them too long. And several families have gone missing in past months. A number of children as well."

This he had not yet heard of and the news was perhaps even more disturbing. "What has been done to rescue them?"

"Oh, I would not know that, Haldir. I do not make a habit of involving myself in our military affairs. Not anymore."

"I understand."

The old man's eyes flitted over to the table he had moments ago served a round of fine ale to. His voice lowered and he leaned closer to the Elf, for no reason Haldir could guess. "All I can tell you is that people 'round these parts seem none too pleased with Adrahil on this matter, though, you did not hear it from me. And it's a shame, really, for he really does-"

A third voice cut like a knife through the line of questioning. The cadence of that voice was icy, accusatory and at the same time, partly amused. "Prince Adrahil has sent a number of regiments with dogs to look for our missing. That was several months ago. We have not heard from them since then."

Haldir looked over his shoulder, noticing it was one of the women who had been speaking of him earlier. Had she been dropping eaves over his discussion with the innkeeper? "Then he should do more," he countered plainly. "Why has he not sent his Knights?"

She studied the Elf for a moment. Her expression was one of weariness, as if she had been versed in this discourse too often and as a result had become quite distasteful of it. "He has," she answered the Elf plainly; her tone was laden with dismissal. She turned to request a glass of wine from Mahtan.

"As you wish m'lady."

Haldir was silent for a moment, before tapping his glass twice with the tips of his fingernails. "What has happened to them?"

"They have not returned, and we have received no word from them. For all intents and purposes they have disappeared and it is for this reason – I would imagine - Prince Adrahil is quite reluctant to send more after them."

Silence blanketed the exchange, for Haldir quietly contemplated the most diplomatic manner in which to voice his grievances. He settled with a quiet, "it is not enough."

"Excuse me?"

"Forgive me for it might well not be my place to comment, but no resources should be spared when it comes to ensuring the safety of a community's children. Whatever it is your leadership is doing, it cannot be enough until every child is safe in his or her own bed."

Mahtan looked from the Elf to the woman as he set the goblet of red wine in front of the lady. He looked hesitant and wary to interfere and thus he kept silent, eyeing the exchange curiously.

"I cannot disagree with you, my lord, for your passions are entirely justified. Children are precious-"

Haldir had cut her short by clearing his throat, "yes," he responded softly. "And Elves have too few. For that reason those who bear children protect them, whatever the cost. It is why we keep them sheltered and safe until they are of age. I have heard of Men who force their boys into battle and bloodshed before they have seen their fourteenth winter."

She shifted her weight upon her other foot and looked at him, incredulously. "You suggest that we do not value our children to the same extent that your kind does. Now that _is _too bold, Master Elf. Perhaps I shall grant you an audience with Prince Adrahil himself to voice your grievances at the state of our barbaric principality."

"My lady-"

She could not conceal the quirk in her brow as she turned to the elderly innkeeper. "Mahtan, will you not introduce me to your friend?"

"Of course, my lady. This here is Haldir of Lothlórien. Haldir, this is Lady Ivriniel. She is Prince Adrahil's eldest daughter."

_That certainly explains her resemblance to Mithrellas._

Haldir leaned back, taking a rather heavy draught from his wine goblet and mused humorously, "I suppose this is the part where I am required to apologize for my impedance towards Dol Amroth's royal family?"

"Such requirements are frivolous and unnecessary, _Haldir of Lórien._" The manner of which she bit out the Elf's name betrayed her great disesteem over the awkward exchange. "My sensibilities are not so tender as to be offended by your judgements of my country and my culture, however rash and unjustified they might be." She paused for moment, studying what she could see of his face from beneath the hood of her cloak. The corners of her lips twitched upwards and she turned to leave. "Gentlemen, if you will excuse me."

He stopped her hasty departure with an unexpected inquiry. "Does the name 'Mithrellas' ring at all to you, Lady Ivriniel?"

"Should it?"

"Perhaps."

Ivriniel paused, but it was not because she hadn't an answer for him. She was merely contemplating the correct manner in which to voice it. "I am aware of my lineage," she offered ambiguously.

"That is good."

"And I have met an Elf of Lórien before. Although, I must admit my previous exchange was far more pleasant."

"Oh, you must have been mistaken, young lady," the innkeeper retorted gravely, beckoning to gain both their attention. Haldir himself remained silent while the girl stared at Mahtan in slack-jawed anticipation. "With the exception of Haldir here, no Elf has stepped foot in Dol Amroth for many years – least not in your own lifetime!"

"Fraudulent a claim as any," she responded. She pulled a pin from her hair after she felt it had become loose. The innkeeper made a noise to suggest he was not fully convinced by her convictions. Ivriniel reached to pin back the curl that had strayed over her shoulder. "It might have been less than two decades ago, but I am certain a Silvan Elf visited once during our Yuletide fair. I had a miniature viol and if my recollection holds true, I believe he tuned it for me."


End file.
